


Doll

by Ruenis



Category: Rune Factory (Video Games), Rune Factory 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-06-09 15:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6912691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruenis/pseuds/Ruenis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Obsidian Mansion really is as terrifying as people believe it to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Obsidian Mansion

“It's this way!”

Somehow, the girl's voice is louder than the deafening thunder that rings in the blond's ears. He runs after her, face flushed, hair and clothes dripping from the hard, torrential downpour that has plagued the town for the past few days. His boots are covered in mud and grass, and he loosely grips his longsword's sheath to keep it from touching the ground.

_It wasn't this stormy last summer.._

“W-wait..” the blond calls breathlessly; normally, this would not tire him out, but the rain is making it significantly harder to run after the girl. He follows her inside the creepy mansion that he had been avoiding last year, and swallows lightly, gathering his breath as he lets his violet eyes slowly adjust to the dim light.

“What is it?” the girl asks, her small lips forming a near perfect 'O'. She almost appears to be.. _glowing_ in the darkness.

He shifts his weight slightly, trying to ignore what he assumes to be a trick of the eyes, “Erm.. will you at least tell me your name?” He never asked, the shock of her appearing from seemingly nowhere yesterday made him forget.

“Why don't you introduce yourself before you ask a lady's name?” the girl retorts, smiling mischievously at the blond. She crosses her arms against her chest, gazing up at the blond.

“I.. suppose that would be the polite thing to do. Sorry,” the blond apologises, blushing in embarrassment. “My name is August,” he offers, voice quiet.

“Oh, like the month?” the girl teases, though her smile softens, “I'm Pico. I appeared before you so I could help Dolly.”

“So this ' _Dolly_ ' you keep tal–..” August starts to say.

“Enough with the introductions! There's no time to waste!” Pico shouts, waving off August's question with her hand. She turns on her heels and runs upstairs, the odd glow surrounding her disappearing with her into the darkness.

“And.. off she goes,” August whispers, swallowing a hard ball of nervousness; the only light he has is the occasional lightning strike, now that Pico is gone. He follows up after the girl, fingers shying against his longsword's sheath. He ascends the stairway slowly, holding out his free hand to find a doorknob. He pulls, and –

“Wh.. what? Is the door locked? I wonder if Pico accidentally locked it..” He starts to turn back around, violet eyes narrowing as his vision slowly adjusts. “Why would she.. – GAH!!”

His short, terrified scream is silenced by a crash of thunder, and he shuts his eyes tightly at the lightning that nearly blinds him. The thunder subsides, leaving the mansion rumbling quietly, glass shaking. Opening his eyes slowly, his heart rises to his throat upon seeing that the previously unlit candles are now glowing an eerie orange-red.

Breathing out shakily, the blond turns back around and tries the door again, this time pulling and shaking the knob until the door starts to rattle.

No luck.

“Damn it,” he whispers, heart pounding in his chest.

August _despises_ this mansion. After a year and a half, he still utterly _loathes_ the sight of the looming thing, and tries his damnedest to avoid it. It scares him; he asked some of the townsfolk about it, and Meg and Forte both insisted he never go near it. Mostly everyone claims it is haunted, and upon asking Kiel if he has researched it, August learned that there used to be a family living in it a few hundred years ago.

That family.. after living in the mansion for a few years.. went missing. Their bodies were never discovered, nor was there any trace that people actually inhabited the home except for the overwhelming stench of blood.

Of course.. the stench is gone now, replaced with a musty, old scent, but the lingering feeling of dread continues to permeate the vicinity.

So when August announced he was going to the Obsidian Mansion at the request of a strange girl they had never met before.. naturally, they all protested. Well, almost everyone. Doug seems upset with him for whatever reason and is refusing to speak with him, while Lady Ventuswill urged him to find the source of the strange happenings that had started to affect the town about a week ago. The 'happenings' mostly involved reported cases of someone (a woman, most people said) screaming, objects moving on their own..

Terrifying things, in August's view. Things that he, acting prince and resident amnesiac should _not_ have to deal with. He barely remembers his name upon waking up every morning, and has trouble remembering where he is.

Blinking back nervous tears, August finally turns back around, gazing down at the first floor. There are candles downstairs as well, sitting on top of rusted candelabras. There are cobwebs tucked away in corners, and a fine film of dust covering almost everything.

 _Almost_.

The banisters along the stairways seem to be oddly devoid of dust in some areas, and look recently used in comparison to everything else in the room. There is what looks to be hand prints in the dust.

August sighs inwardly, turning his head slightly to find a rather large painting of a woman beside the door. He could not see it before, but the light makes it hard to miss now. He takes a few steps toward it, carefully gazing at it. “It's.. a woman. I don't like her eyes.. feels like she's staring at me..” he murmurs to himself, gaze flickering downward. There is a small plate under the painting, and he crouches down to read it, fingers ghosting over the letters. There's something written here.. ' _Marionetta.. The one I loved.. and the one_ _**I killed**_ '.”

He nearly falls backward in surprise at the text, and quickly returns to his feet, clutching his chest, “H-huh..?”

_Click._

The blond turns instantly, “Wh.. what was..? Was that the door?” His words come out too quickly as he runs downstairs, pulling roughly at the doorknobs.

_Open.. open.. please open!_

“It's.. not opening..”

_I'm locked in here._

August takes a few steps backward, heart pounding in his ears now. _This is crazy_ , he thinks, pacing back and forth nervously, _Kiel was joking, right? No one was actually.._ hurt _here, right? That painting's a joke.. isn't it?_

_Isn't it?_

Swallowing, August looks around the first floor, listening to the faint sounds of what seems to be.. water drops? He walks toward it slowly, freezing in place when something plops onto his head. He raises his hand slowly, wiping his hair, “Wh-what was that? Is the roof leaking..?”

_.. it's sticky..?_

“H.. huh..?” He hesitantly looks at his fingers, face draining of colour. “It's.. _red_..”

His fingertips are smeared with a blood-red, sticky liquid.

August shakes his head as he wipes his fingers on his pants, not caring that the white cloth is now tainted red. “Th-that's.. not blood,” he tells himself reassuringly, “Not.. bl-blood..”

_Right.. just red.. red rain.._

The blond breathes out shakily, walking toward the corner of the room where a small candle sits upon a stack of wooden crates. There is another portrait here, of another woman. She looks a bit different than the first, and has no plate under her painting. He regards her carefully, walking around the staircase to find another small area tucked between the left stairwell and the centre one. There is an old, decrepit sofa here, covered in dust and webs. Beside the sofa is another stack of wooden crates.

August is about to turn when something glinting in the wall catches his eye, something white. Biting his bottom lip as he steps toward it, he blinks in slight surprise, “There's a crack in the wall..” He gazes at it for a few moments, waiting for the glinting white.. _thing_.. to reappear. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when the _thing_ blinks at him, “Uw.. uwah!!” He pulls his sword out if its sheath and instinctively slashes at it, shutting his eyes tightly. He recovers after a moment, sword clattering to the ground as he slowly opens his eyes, breathing hard.

“It.. it's gone..?”

He reaches down to pick up his longsword, blinking when he sees the usually silver-blue tip is coated in a mixture of red and clear liquid goo. “What was that..?” he whispers weakly, chest still heaving with panic as he makes his way to the other small corner tucked near the right staircase. He grips his sword tightly instead of sheathing it, figuring it better – and safer for himself – if he has it ready.

There are only crates in this corner, and another hole in the wall, causing August to turn around immediately. “Damn mansion,” he hisses through gritted teeth, tears once again welling up in his eyes. He quickly walks away and into the last corner, where he finds several crates and an old, worn looking book. Hesitating for a few moments, he lays his sword down on a crate and carefully takes the book, flipping through the pages:

 

_Ever since I started living here, I constantly feel like I'm being watched from somewhere.. But supposedly, I'm the only person here._

 

 

_What's going on?! Things I throw away keep coming back.. Who's doing this? Why don't you show yourself?!_

 

 

 

_.. I can't take it anymore. I decided to leave this mansion tomorrow. Dear stranger, I guess today's the last day I'll be spending with you. Goodbye. Take care._

 

 

 

_**No matter how hard I try to leave the mansion, I somehow always end up back here. Oh, you might be wondering about the colour change! My pen ran out of ink yesterday, but I can still write.** _

_**There seems to be red ink dripping from my right hand now. But it hurts. It hurts.** _

 

_**it hurts it hurts it hurts** _

_**it hurts it hurts it hurts** _

_**it hurts it hurts it hurts** _

 

 

 

_**I found it.. I might finally be able to leave this place! I hid the silver key behind the painting. Finally.. I can finally be free!** _

 

 

 

_**Be free.. is what I.. thought..** _

  


August's heart seizes up. _The 'red ink' is.._

“No, no, it's not..” He shakes his head, dismissing the thought before it can finish processing. This book – a diary, it looks like – must belong to someone who lived here with that family. That is the only explanation.. unless..

_Kiel never mentioned someone living here after that family went missing.._

He pushes that thought away as well, trying to focus on the task at hand. “They said they hid a silver key behind a painting..”

He has seen two paintings so far.. two women.

August tries the second woman first, it being the closer one. He places the book down on top of the crate once more and picks his sword back up, crossing over to the painting across the room. He carefully sheathes his sword before he pulls the photo off and turns it over, blinking when he finds an inscription on the back. “It.. says.. ' _I will love this house, and.. all of the guests I invite.. I will make portraits of them.. They will.. be here forever_ '..? What?”

Confusion fills his head. There is no key on this painting, and the inscription does not really make any sense..

_The people living here were crazy._

He puts it back and returns upstairs, stopping in place when he sees a photo of a man on the other side of the door, mirroring the painting of the first woman. He approaches it slowly, shivering when he locks eyes with the eyes. “So creepy..” he mumbles, flipping it over. “Ah! Is this..?” He lights up upon seeing a key, and pulls it off, excitement quickly turning to dread when he sees that they key is not silver, but a crusty mixture of dark red and muddy brown. “A-ah..”

It slips from his hands, clattering quietly to the carpeted floor.

_It's.. covered in.. in blood.._

Covering his mouth as he gags, August forces himself to swallow the disgusted bile that has been forming in his stomach.

This mansion is truly frightening. It is no surprise everyone tried to avoid it.

August coughs into his hand, trying to compose himself. His tongue tastes like acid, and his saliva burns his throat. “I.. _hate_ it here..” he whispers weakly, tears blurring his vision. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand as he bends down to pick up the key, and then stands still for a few moments, calming his breathing.

_I should've taken Forte's offer.. then I wouldn't be alone here.._

Exhaling, August starts to move again, slowly heading downstairs and toward the entrance to the mansion. “This.. key should lead back outside..” he mumbles to himself, pushing the blood-covered into the keyhole.

It stops before the key is even a quarter in.

“Wh.. Oh, no, no, no..”

He tries again, flipping the key before inserting it.

This time, it does not even go in.

“No, no..”

_You have to be kidding me..!_

“It doesn't fit.”

The realisation hits him hard.

August slowly turns back around, feet sounding too loud in the eerie silence. His heart once again seizes up when he realises that the thundering had subsided long ago, leaving him with only his voice and body as company. He glares up at the only other doors in the room, the doors that either lead to his escape or demise.

“I am so screwed.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally deleted this because it uploaded twice.. sorry about that.. .///.
> 
> And, uh, I'm not actually sure what to rate this? I'm going to keep it T for now unless someone says otherwise.


	2. Mistake

August did _not_ want to approach the upstairs door. He wanted to keep trying the door he came in from, to try and bash it in. He disregarded the idea before putting it into action. With his slim frame, now that he puts thought into it, he doubts he could even get one door open, much less the both of the sturdy, hardwood doors that bar him from leaving.

With bated breath, August grudgingly makes his way back upstairs, feet heavy, hesitant. He does not blink as he inserts the key, listening to it click in response. He slowly twists the doorknob and opens the door –

– it creaks, horribly, like a witch in those tales Kiel shared, melting from rain.. but opens with no other issue, swinging open smoothly. Exhaling in a mixture of relief and nervousness, August pulls his hand away from the knob and runs a hand through his hair, realising that it is still damp with.. that _red rain_ from before, something he immediately wipes on his pants once again, not looking at it this time. He steps into the room after a moment, his feet heavy, hesitant, and looks around:

There is a chandelier in this room, adorned with at least a dozen candles that bathe nearly everything in the same orange-red glow that had been present in the parlor. There are candelabras here as well, some right across from him on a table, and more at the far end of the hall, illuminating what normally would be dark corners. The carpet here is considerably more worn and frayed, stained and splattered an unfamiliar, odd colour of brown in some places.

August steps inside slowly, listening to the wood creak, muffled from the carpets, but still stressful on the ears. “Pico..?” he calls softly, though from the lack of footsteps and her odd glow from before, it is obvious she is not in this room.

A shame. He had wanted to ask why she had locked him inside.

_.. if that had been her doing._

A door enters his vision, on his left. It is easily noticeable, lit up by the chandelier's light; it also has a small area to stand in before it. August walks toward it after a moment, still not quite sure why he has not yet..

“Oh!”

He has not tried teleporting out. He should have, the moment he realised he was locked in, but the spell and magick itself completely slipped his mind. The blond is not proficient at it yet, and has trouble with aim, but..

Holding his hand out before him, August breathes in, _Focus.. focus.. Just think of home and.._

His palm starts to glow a soft, dull blue, and a pool of light forms at his feet. It shines, almost as blinding as the lightning from before –

– a flash, and then..

.. nothing.

August's hand falls to his side in resignation. “Gods damn it,” he hisses under his breath, gaze slowly rising to the door before him, “I really do have to go through this.”

* * *

 

“Where's Lest?” Dylas asks, absentmindedly tapping his fork against his plate. His features indicate agitation, more so than usual: the blond's absence is seemingly to blame.

“I believe Lady Ventuswill instructed him to visit the mansion,” Arthur says.

Doug gazes between the two, distracted only for a second. “Wait, you called him ' _Lest_ ',” he says, confusion clear in his tone as well as his features, “His name is _August_.. right?”

Despite having known the acting prince for a year and some months now, it has taken the dwarf a bit longer than he would like to admit to remember August's name; he has chosen to ignore the fact that his name is in fact one of the months on a calendar. He had been referring to him as 'Aaron' for a better part of the year, as well as 'Lukas', and thought August's name was August _us_ , initially. Vishnal and Arthur corrected him, whereas August let the odd names by.

“His middle name is Lest,” Vishnal offers, a gentle smile on his face. Unlike Dylas, his attitude toward Doug has not shifted in the slightest. Most likely, he has not noticed the redhead's sudden animosity toward the young blond.

“More specifically, I have been able to send letters requesting information on him. His name is August Lest, last name unknown. It would appear that he was affiliated with the royal guard in some way, but they are having difficulty finding valid information on him. All I've discovered is his birthday, which we celebrated last year in time, and his blood type,” Arthur explains, a slight frown on his features.

Being affiliated with the royal guard may or may not be a good thing for August; Arthur is concerned if August once held some sort of title and ran into some trouble, which led to his amnesia and their current situation. He feels responsible in some way. If August were out on a mission and it backfired..

Doug lets that set in for a moment, and then suddenly sits up as straight as he can, silver eyes flickering between Arthur's honey pink and Vishnal's dark violet. He has a serious look on his face now, hands balled into tight fists, clutching his fork far too tightly. “You said he went to that mansion?”

“He went to the Obsidian Mansion, yes,” Vishnal answers.

“You haven't heard about the odd happenings about town? Lady Ventuswill asked him to investigate.”

“He went alone?” Doug asks.

“Is that a problem?” Dylas retorts, frowning at the redhead, “Lest's able to handle himself.”

Doug glares, agitated now. “You and Arthur wouldn't know, but that mansion has been nothing but trouble. The other's should've told you about it.”

“The other townsfolk, you mean? Kiel mentioned it might be haunted, but..” Arthur trails off, not quite sure where Doug is going with this. It is not usual to see him worked up over something seemingly trivial.

“That mansion is _dangerous._ No one should have let him go by himself.”

* * *

 

“Oh.. it's locked,” August mumbles to himself upon feeling the doorknob rattle in his grasp. He shakes it for a few more moments before pulling away, realising that he will not be able to open it.

_The other door.._

Turning his head slightly, August finds himself looking at a door at the end of the hallway, his only other choice at the moment. He walks toward it, wooden boards creaking under him again – _this house really is in terrible need of repairs_ – and stops just a foot away, gaze slipping to the floor.

There is no light emitting from under the door, not even a faint flicker.

 _It isn't lit on the other.._ –

“ **You're going to die, here. You'll never get out.** ”

August freezes in place, the voice sending chills down his spine. It is almost.. _teasing_ , in a weird, horrible, morbid way. Tormenting, would be a better word. He hears someone breathing behind him, though had not heard any footsteps that might explain the presence. His own breathing accelerates, heart hammering in his ears, twisting in a way that his chest starts to ache and hurt.

_I shouldn't turn around._

.. is the thought that comes first, the safe thought, the one that will probably keep his sanity intact.

 _Look behind you_ , is the second, and is exactly what he does.

August spins around, and comes face-to-face with what _should_ be a young man.

What he finds instead is a brunet standing before him, bloodied with clothing tattered, facial structure practically nonexistent.

A reanimated body.

“A-ah.. ah..” August's back meets the door, and his hand struggles to find the knob. Nails scrape against the door, painfully, bending at his impatient force. The door clatters behind him, his trembling and panic straining the old, possibly rotted wood. Still, it is to heavy to force open, and his magick is all but forgotten now.

_Can't.. I can't.. N.. no.. Why..?!_

“ **You are going to die here,** ” the man – _skeleton, or perhaps a ghoul or zombie would be more appropriate?_ – repeats, and August's stomach starts to churn at the sight of his jaw – his exposed, decomposing jaw yellowed with age, with chunks of red and pink flesh hanging from it, and –

_Oh my gods._

August finds himself falling seconds later, landing on the ground painfully, head banging against the carpet.

It seems he found the knob in his panic, though he cannot remember turning it.

His vision swims before him, blackened by the sudden pain in his head, and he groans softly as he sits up as best he can. He watches numbly as the door slams shut behind him, and with it, the light.

He is left alone in the dark, violet eyes unable to focus properly.

Standing up after a moment, August finds his legs barely able to hold him up; they feel like jelly, weak and shaky. “Th.. this is..” His voice echoes, and he stops speaking upon seeing his words come out in a white, cold fog. Breathing out shakily at the dropping temperature, August parts his lips to recite a fireball spell – he at least knows how to keep it stationary in his hand – only to find a rusted – _it isn't bloody, it's not bloodied_ – curved blade in front of his neck, a sort of sickle or scythe.

“ **You're never going to make it out of here.** ”

The blond shuts his eyes and swallows a scream when the blade is jerked backward.

 


	3. Cold

Dizzy. Nauseated.

August wakes up with a soft groan, violet eyes slowly fluttering open to find nothing but darkness. “Oh..” he sighs, hand instinctively going to his neck, “What was that..?”

No cuts. No blood. His neck is perfectly fine, head still attached..

_It must have been an illusion._

He wants to believe it was nothing but an illusion, a dream, a figment of his imagination.. but somewhere, deep down, he wonders if that was only a taste of what is to come. Even if it _was_ an illusion, it felt very, _very_ real. He is still shaking from it.

August slowly rises to his feet, letting his eyes adjust. The door is to his left, still shut, and the light is no longer flickering from under it. He sees nothing but darkness to his right, and a vague shape directly in front of him.

_It's shaped like.._

August recites another fire spell, holding his hand out in front of him. It lights up easily, a small ball of flames rests on his palm.

This time, there is nothing at his neck.

“A candle,” August murmurs, stepping forward slightly.

The shape had been another candelabra.

He lets the flame lick at the candle's wick, and watches it light up.

And then, almost instantly, all the other candles in the room light up with it.

They light up a whitish blue, give off a dull, bluish sheen.

Blinking at the oddity, August curiously allows his fingertips to graze the flame –

– he pulls away when icy pin-pricks greet him instead of warmth. “Ow..” he hisses, gently rubbing his fingers along his pants; it burns, a cold burn, freezer burn, and lingers, like a numb feeling, like a body part that has fallen asleep.

“ **Heheh..** ”

August spins around at the soft giggle, freezing up when he finds three floating figures before him.

Ghosts.

Three ghosts float before him, donned torn cloaks, capes, clothing tattered covered in some dark sort of – _not blood, no blood, that isn't blood._ Two of them have bulky hoods, shaped similarly to a rotting pumpkin, the fabric now a drained hue of orange, faded with age. One has a whitish hood, covered in black spots that resemble soot, the spots where its eyes should be.

_They don't have legs,_ August realises, swallowing lightly. The two with the pumpkin heads have lanterns, a singular, pitch arm with no real solid form. The one in the centre, with the white hood, has a rusty, bloodied scythe.

The same scythe that August had felt against his neck before he had fainted.

Raising his head just slightly, August gazes at the centre one as he takes a step back, realising this ghost is dressed similarly to an executioner.

_But still.._

August slowly pulls his sword from its sheath, readying himself. He has never had to fight ghosts before, has no idea _how_ he might go about fighting them. All the other monsters around Selphia are corporeal, can be forced to return to the Forest..

_.. ghosts are not as scary as ghouls._

Holding the sword out before him, August sucks in a sharp breath. _Forte probably would have known how to deal with them.._

The lanterns start to glow a dull orange-red as the ghosts float forward, and the white ghost raises its scythe.

Something shatters, and the blond finds his vision obscured by a flash of white.

“E-eh..?”

“ **Goodnight!** ”

“Wh-wha..?” August's gasp catches in his throat as he forces himself to swing his sword upward.

 

 

August opens his eyes after a few seconds, hearing nothing.

There is nothing but black smoke floating before him, the ghosts gone.

Straightening himself, August swallows, lowering his sword. _They're gone,_ he tells himself, trying to calm down from the slight shock. He looks around the room, realising that this room is structured practically the same way as the last. There is a door to his north, and another to the right of the hall. There are still no windows, no skylights, nothing to let in any natural light. _If there are two doors to the north.. these two rooms must be connected,_ he realises, opting to continue onward rather than double back, _Pico has to be further on.. I hope she's alright.._

He does not sheath his sword this time, hesitantly walking over to the door at the end of the hallway. The Snow Crown feels cold in his hand. Cold, but familiar and safe, much safer than the odd chill the candles in this room give off. His free hand lingers over the doorknob, fingertips grazing chipped away bronze.

_You have to find Pico._

“I know..” he murmurs to himself, shaking his head a bit. He slowly twists the doorknob and allows the door to swing open, blinking in surprise when he sees what is on the other side.

“Pico?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy flip!! I know this is super duper late and I apologise for that.. ;; I lost my horror muse for a bit, and I haven't really gotten it completely back, but I did get enough to finish this chapter.. I'm sorry it's so short, though..


End file.
